The Farmer

Listen—
not all ground is broken the same.
The farmer knows this.
He runs his hand through the soil,
presses it between thumb and palm,
waits for the wind
before he lifts the plough.

He does not thresh dill
like he threshes wheat.
Black cumin is not crushed by a cartwheel.
Each seed has its way,
each time its season.

So too the Lord—
sometimes a storm,
sometimes a whisper,
sometimes a silence that waits.

The people of Jerusalem
wear their pride like iron helmets,
mistaking stubbornness for wisdom,
security for favour.
But the One who teaches farmers
has not lost his mind.

There is method in the pressure,
mercy in the pounding,
and love beneath the surface
where the seed will split
and rise again.

This is not chaos.
It is the slow, sure work
of renewal.

A reflection based on Isaiah 28:23-29